


uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

by burnshoney



Series: it is seldom (queens) enjoy [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Haircuts, Inspired by Fanart, Introspection, Post-Canon, amaya becomes queen regent of katolis in ezran’s stead so he can be a child and cuts her hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnshoney/pseuds/burnshoney
Summary: Amaya has no choice. Amayachooses.
Relationships: Amaya & Callum & Ezran (The Dragon Prince), Amaya & Sarai (The Dragon Prince), Amaya/Janai (The Dragon Prince)
Series: it is seldom (queens) enjoy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574941
Comments: 17
Kudos: 121





	uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

**Author's Note:**

> idk if y’all followed me on twitter but queen regent amaya has been knocking around in my head since day one when viren offered for amaya to take the throne back in what? episode five? six? it kinda fell into the back of my memory until in s3 when opeli has that whole talk with ezran about choosing a regent so he can be a kid for just a few more years and the lightbulb in my head went OFF. this better be foreshadowing for s4. i love foreshadowing. 
> 
> it all spiraled when kuki (BloopScr on twitter) ACTUALLY STARTED DRAWING QUEEN REGENT AMAYA IN HER SISTER’S CROWN AND I CRIED

_Please_ , Ezran asks her with wide eyes glassed with unshed tears, his little face scrunched with the effort not to cry — a heartbreaking reminder he is barely eleven and his father’s crown is gone, lost to Xadia when Viren fell. Instead he wears Sarai’s and Amaya forces herself to look him in the face. 

He looks even more like his mother, now. 

It’s barely a year after the battle at the Storm Spire, since Amaya stood in front of the Queen of the Dragons and watched her declare peace upon a warring nation who had been at odds for well over a decade. It’s barely been a year since she slept in a bed and not on a hard floor surrounded by leaping flames, nearly a year since Callum’s fingers shook as he recounted the tale of jumping over the edge with only a sliver of hope on his tongue and painted on his arms. 

Amaya had grabbed his shoulders before he could finish, crushing him to her. He had hugged back with shuddering sobs she couldn’t hear and Amaya had cursed every deity she could name that both her nephews had inherited not only Sarai’s kind eyes and gentle hand but her selflessness as well. 

The selflessness that got her _killed_. She can only beg those same deities every night that it doesn’t end the same this time. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if it does. 

If it _did_ — Callum has fallen too many times, Ezran the same. 

_Please, Aunt Amaya_ , Ezran begs her now, sitting on a throne too-big for him, wearing a crown too heavy. It slips down his brow even as he blabbers and he doesn’t reach up to readjust. _Opeli said I could pick a Regent. I don’t know if I can do this right now._

Amaya wants to say no. Wants to shake her head, kneel at his side and remind him he can do anything he can put his mind to. He brought back the egg of the Dragon Prince and helped begin an era of unprecedented peace, forged a bond with Azymondias that even she could see — it came as no surprise he had the same way with animals Sarai did _._

But she can’t say no _. Won’t_ say no. Even from where Amaya stands at the edge of the dias she can see the bruises beneath his eyes, the slump of his spine, the defeated line of his small shoulders. Ezran is a child and he’s tired — he was _never_ supposed to have to do any of this alone or at all. Both Harrow and Sarai swore they would let him be a kid before he would have to be a monarch and would be there every step of the way until he was ready to learn. _Willing_ to learn. 

They were going to teach him _together_. 

But here he is. Callum is off with Rayla, somewhere in Xadia and General Amaya stands before her King; her nephew, her sister’s youngest, and seals her fate. It is quick, painless — a few signed papers, Ezran’s little body holding her close as he cries and unaccustomed to not wearing her armor, Amaya cradles him gently into her neck with a hand to the back of his head. She stares up at Harrow’s portrait from over his shoulder, above the throne and swallows down the bitter taste in her mouth. 

Amaya has no choice.

Callum and Ezran inherited their mother’s kind eyes and gentle hand as well as her selflessness. Amaya didn’t. But Amaya learned her selflessness, her kindness, her gentleness, and thinks to herself maybe it’s worse. 

She’s tired, she’s so tired. But she wakes the next morning anyway and finds two gleaming towers like spear blades on her vanity, glinting in the light cast by the soon-rising sun and Amaya _chooses_. 

The scissors make no sound when they close around the lock of hair she holds between two fingers. Amaya doesn’t look once in the mirror as she shears away her hair — she knows this dance well. She knows if she looks up now it’ll be Sarai staring back at her, eyes mournful — it’s always Sarai in her reflection. _I always loved your long hair, Amaya. Remember when I used to braid it on the bad nights when you’d climb into bed with me and we’d finger-spell to first light?_

It’s only after the last piece falls from her fingers to join the others on the carpet that Amaya begins to move around. She knows even if she could hear her quarters would be eerily quiet; just the sounds of rustling fabric as she dresses quickly in the clothes laid out for her; light and thin compared to her armor. It almost feels like an anchor now, a comfortable one — her armor, like she’s going to float away without it to keep her grounded. 

Sarai _was_ always her harbor. 

When she’s done buttoning the collar of the tight, cream tunic beneath the burgundy dress Amaya exhales shakily and turns to face the one thing she’s been avoiding this whole time. It’s harmless, just bent and hammered brass shaped into a crown but Amaya’s fingers brush it like its the most precious thing in the world. 

Sarai’s circlet is weighty on her brow. The uneven towers press to her skin and Amaya holds her breath the entire time until she almost sags with the effort of standing. 

_No_. It is just a crown — nothing more. She is doing this for Ezran, for Callum, for Sarai and Harrow and Opeli all with their tired eyes and phantom smiles. Amaya once promised she would bring back Sarai’s boys after letting them slip through her grasp once. 

She won’t let it happen again. 

When she strides across the room to fling open the door, there’s two guards on either side and Gren waits, a half-smile on his face. His eyes barely roam respectfully over her figure before settling on the weight atop her head and the smile falters for a moment before her bowing, hand to his breast. 

_It is my honor to serve you, Queen Regent Amaya._

Amaya swallows and inclines her chin in wordless acknowledgement. All too quickly she feels like she is going to collapse under the thin layers of cotton and silk, held to the ground by the brass towers on her head and she doesn’t look at herself in the mirror. She can’t. 

She is doing this for Ezran. 

_Promise you’ll take care of them,_ Sarai begged her the rainy evening before they set off into Xadia, as Amaya dressed in silver armor methodically and braided back her hair in quick motions. Her sister had banged through the door, looking lost but determined. _Promise me you’ll look after them when I can’t._

Amaya had rolled her eyes but agreed when Sarai took her hands, pleading with teary eyes _. Of course I promise,_ she had signed before clicking her shield into place on her back _. But I don’t need to. You’re not going anywhere. We’ll be back with the Heart soon._

The doors to the Great Hall open before her, swinging inwards like her lungs threaten to collapse but she moves forward anyway. Amaya knows if she looks Gren is one step to her right and one back — hands at the ready, by her side always. Her faithful Commander and friend, her voice. 

All eyes settle on her. Amaya pays them no mind; she walks with her chin tilted upwards even as her hands shake. She clasps them in front of her. 

Ezran’s eyes are wet when she meets them, climbing the dias only after a heartbeat of hesitation. He looks up at her, smiles, and Amaya knows it’s all worth it by how light he looks without a crown weighing down his neck, free to walk without guards and live without a throne until he is ready. 

She’s taken that burden from him. Sarai’s words are heavy in her mind — almost heavier than her crown when Amaya sits slowly. 

_Promise me you’ll look after them_. 

She will always be there for her nephews. Always. Callum and Ezran may have inherited their mother’s kind eyes and gentle hands, her selflessness, but Amaya _learns it._

It is not a shield nor sword but Amaya has made an oath — one to a sister, one to an army. She makes a third to a Nation that day. 

_Protect and serve the crown at all costs._

Her hands do not tremble that day, or the day after, or the day after. She makes good on her promise, even as _protecting_ becomes _taking_ and _serving_ becomes _breaking_. 


End file.
